


"What Being A Good Boy Will Get You"

by wily_one24



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-07
Updated: 2006-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wily_one24/pseuds/wily_one24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The masochist says 'beat me', the sadist says 'no'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"What Being A Good Boy Will Get You"

**Pairing:** Lamb/Veronica.  
 **Word Count:** 9,720.  
 **Rating:** NC-17, like woah.  
 **Summary:** The masochist says 'beat me', the sadist says 'no'.  
 **Spoilers:** Everything aired, so up to 3.09 'Spit  & Eggs', things strongly hinted, but nothing specifically named.  
 **Warnings:** Strong D/s currents. Sexual content. So, if there are any kiddies out there, please play by the rules and turn away or, you know, get an adult to read it aloud while you're in the room. Also, lot's of 'f' words.  
 **Disclaimer:** Oh, god, if RT ever found out what I did with his lovely, pristine toys, I would be so far past sued, I don't think they have a name for it yet.

Written for the [](http://vm-library.livejournal.com/profile)[**vm_library**](http://vm-library.livejournal.com/) 's, [Santa Baby Smutathon Challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/vm_library/15497.html)

*~*~*~*~*  
 **WHAT BEING A GOOD BOY WILL GET YOU**  
*~*~*~*~*

She always knew how to take his breath away.

He wasn’t safe, not anywhere. Even spending three grueling hours with a shit eating grin and a Santa hat, playing nice for the local constituency as they promised to pledge more money to the Sheriff’s department, the amounts getting larger and clumsier with each glass poured.

He always ordered the decent stuff for the campaign parties, especially if he had to put up with them on Christmas Eve.

There she was, goddamned Veronica Mars, armed with her favorite weapon. A camera. He could just about see her eyes light up when she saw him. And he’d been about to finally slip away and lock himself in his office, far from the growing buzz of political hype.

There was only so many times a man could pretend to care about Fifi’s dog walking path being marred by graffiti. And still smile.

She looked about as uncomfortable in this crowd as he felt, which was probably why he managed to sidle his way across the room and plant himself next to her.

“You know.” He gave her a quick once over, not enough to actually notice anything worth noticing, but enough to give the impression of it. The narrowing of her eyes was distinctly worth the effort. “If you came here to fill up on the free food, you’re going to have to drop the camera sooner or later.”

Her face widened in false surprise, the sort of cocky assuredness he spent a lot of time imagining wiping from her face.

“Is this the famed charm I keep hearing about in the newspapers? Because, I have to tell you, Deputy, I don’t see it.”

The buzz he’d been nursing from his one allowed drink before the crowd went home began to dissipate.

Quickly.

“Why are you here, anyway?”

She hefted the camera with an expression that was usually reserved for slow fifth graders. And him.

“Taking photos. Say cheese!” The flash made him blink for just a second and he almost missed her next words, cloaked in a bored tone. “The Hearst Free Press is doing an article on the esteemed Balboa County Sheriff’s Department and how they mishandled the rape investigation due to inept police work and shoddy investigations. I figured they could use a few photos of everyone’s tax dollars hard at work. Personally, I could have lived without seeing Sacks with furry antlers on his head, but that’s just me.”

Lamb felt his fingers curl around a napkin in his hand, left over from the finger food he’d been nibbling on to stave away random chatters, hunger and complete and utter insanity due to boredom.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” It was a stupid question; it was always a stupid question. “Are there no college parties or keggers you could be foiling? Aren’t there people out there having unmolested fun?”

A dark look passed over her face and she mumbled something under her breath. He found himself wanting to bend down a little, just close enough to hear her and the thought made him frown further.

“I don’t know what’s more disturbing.” She recovered quickly; he had to give her points for that. “Sacks in the reindeer antlers, or you in the Santa hat.”

There was a whole pantomime to go with it, too. He watched the way her face screwed up, her shoulders giving in to the shudder that trembled her whole upper body. Even her little button nose crinkled in the middle.

Maybe that buzz wasn’t entirely gone.

“No.” She continued. “It’s definitely you. Are you trying to scare the little kiddies into giving you their pocket money? Was there nothing more traumatic you could have done?”

“I don’t know, Veronica. There’s always something.” With that, he leaned his shoulder on a nearby shelf and let his eyes wander more slowly. “Do you have a naughty Mrs. Claus suit you could wear?”

The shift from bored and mildly disgruntled to genuine disgust was comical.

Score one for him.

“Ugh. And that? Is my cue. I’m gone” It was a stammer and a flinch and that response made his night, even as she pointed to the door. “Nice photo, I’m sure it’ll make the cover. By the way, you’ve got something…”

With a smug gesture to her chin, she was gone.

Lamb frantically smeared the twisted napkin across his face, glaring at the bright red ketchup stain that appeared.

Great.

***

It was nearly two am when his doorbell rang.

He wasn’t sleeping, really, he was just closing his eyes and enjoying an even deeper buzz from considerably better alcohol in the privacy of his own living room, complete with soundtrack of late night television ads trying to make him buy a knife that could cut through titanium steel.

Well, hell, if he ever needed to do that, he just might call them up.

Until that time arose, he didn’t really understand why he needed to be disturbed at some ungodly hour of the morning.

Of course, Lamb changed his mind the instant he opened his front door.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Veronica.” He couldn’t help it. He just couldn’t help it. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

It was trite and fully played into her hands, he knew it, but he couldn’t help just standing there staring at her for just a second. Shit.

“Oh.” She wasn’t smiling and the gritted way she forced the words out of her teeth, too perky and too distinct, was probably the friendliest he could ever hope from her. “So you ordered one of those this Christmas? Didn’t think you were on Santa’s nice list.”

“What can I say?” A small, very miniscule amount of blood managed to trickle its way back up to his brain as his fingers curled around the edge of his doorjamb. “I’ve been a very good boy.”

She wrinkled her nose, her face falling for just a brief second before she expelled a puff of disappointment.

“That’s disturbing. And clichéd. Are you gonna let me in?”

Fuck yes.

He wasn’t that stupid. Not even he, Donald serial acquiescer of criminal cases to an underage high school girl turned college student very much of age, underachieving Lamb was that brain dead. Veronica goddamn Mars was standing on his doorstep in the tiniest of all little red suits.

Scratch that. Red pleather. Tiny red fucking pleather Mrs. Claus suit, just like he’d asked. Tight little bustier tied up the front in criss-crosses of black leather straps and finishing with a jaunty little bow nestled in the thick, white fluffy crap that pushed against what he could see of the tops of her breasts.

His mouth went dry as he let his eyes drop to the taut expanse of red that tapered off into an even tauter, pale midsection.

The skirt wasn’t much bigger, tight at the hips and flaring out to a saucy angle far from her thighs. And it was short, too. The entire length of her legs, strapped in tight in light red fishnet stockings, was in plain view of anyone who bothered to look. And he bothered.

Damn, it was better than he’d hoped for.

“Sure.” He shrugged, letting his eyes linger just a little bit more as he pushed the door wide open and left a space underneath his outstretched arm and his body for her to slip through. “If that’s what you want.”

If he hadn’t been watching her, his eyes all but glued to the planes of her face, he would have missed the split second of surprise at his concern that flew over her features. He was, so he saw it, and he placed it aside for future reference if he ever needed to use it. He never knew with her.

She nodded, silent but steely, and that was all the answer he needed as she bit her bottom lip and ducked her head to slip underneath his arm.

Consent, pure and simple.

“So, you were just what…?” Even now she didn’t stop, straining her neck to get a better look inside his house, to his humdrum furniture and lackluster tastes in décor, didn’t stop looking and watching and seeing. “… Watching infomercials, waiting for that special lady on the screen to give you her phone number because she’s just waiting for your call? So call her, call her now.”

The deep husk in her voice, even false and pretend the way it was, all caramel sex kitten sweet, should have been illegal.

“Enough.”

It was a word, one simple, easy, everyday word. But it did the job.

He saw her stand a little bit straighter, her eyes flicking straight to him and her mouth parting slightly. Her whole posture changed, the easy assurance slipping away to a more rigid, alert, expectant stance. It crept up his spine.

“You didn’t come here for nervous babble, did you, Veronica?”

He took a deliberate step forward, larger than necessary, enough to bring him within touching distance. To her credit, she didn’t step back, didn’t look away. She didn’t even give the slightest hint of it.

The tiniest little ripple shook her head from side to side and he saw her eyes dilate.

Fuck, she could own a man if she wanted.

“So?” He raised his right hand to lift the end of a tendril of her hair, let it slide through his fingers. “Why? Why are you here?”

Another step forward and he was in her space, further than he dared during the day, further than she would ever let him during the day.

He had to look down to see her properly, angle his face down so that he could watch her eyes turn up to meet his, see the whites in the bottom of them. He watched her mouth puff open in a breath of disbelief and saw the flush that spread over her cheeks.

Veronica Mars had been the bane of his life for years now, one way or another, in every perceivable manner.

But this? This was how she tortured him the most, how she drove him crazy.

This was how he liked her best.

He toyed with the idea of making her say it out loud, of pushing her to the point of actualizing it, but that thought stayed buried on the tip of his tongue.

“I…” She stuttered, lost and nervous and embarrassed, and he felt it like a jolt to his groin. “Because…”

He pushed a lot of her boundaries, sure, but that one wasn’t going to be on the list. She hadn’t run, yet, but he knew she’d only do it once.

“Shut up.” A brief, curt, barked order as he flattened his hand at the base of her throat and pushed her back against the wall. “Just shut up.”

Her spine bounced off the wall, followed by the thick sound of her skull meeting the flat solid surface, but he could see the relief flood over her face. The acceptance.

As he bent down, inhaling the warmth in the curve of her neck, he was vaguely aware of her arm dropping down limply to her side, the sound of her bag falling to the floor.

“No.” His lips sealed themselves over her skin, heated and vibrant, he could practically taste the pulse rushing under his mouth. “Up.”

She was greedy like this; he knew it. Greedy and demanding and utterly pliant as long as she got what she wanted. He kept his body back, giving her only his mouth, sucking at the skin and dragging great draughts of salt from her as he planted his hands on either side of her head.

“Hummm?”

It rumbled, low and lazy underneath his mouth and he raised his eyes to watch her, to see her leaning back against the wall, giving it all her weight. Her eyes were pointed up at the ceiling and he could practically feel her slumping.

His teeth closed down sharply.

“I said up.”

There was the briefest moment of hesitation, the flicker of her pulse against his tongue, before he drew away, pushing his shoulders heavy into the arms that held him up and away from her, his forehead barely an inch from hers.

He could feel his own breath bounce off her face.

“Veronica?”

His right hand came across cupping her cheek and he bit his lip at the small quiver she gave him. His thumb traced light patterns underneath the blue patch of her eye, the puffy skin that gave away how very little sleep she was getting. How very tired and worn down and exhausted she was.

Well, wonders would never cease; Veronica Mars wasn’t perfect after all.

“I said.” He spoke it as a growl, a low, rumbling threat. “Lift. Your goddamn. Hands.”

She had to know what was coming. She was a bright, observant girl and she never missed a thing. The clinical definition of insanity was repeating the same action over and over again and expecting a different outcome.

His was simpler; his definition of insanity was pressed between him and his entrance hall.

It was slow, the slide of her arms up the wall beside her body, hands hanging limply by her wrists as she slithered them upwards. He watched the curve of her body as she did it, the way her whole spine changed shape, the arch of her neck as she adjusted.

God, he could lick her up and down any day.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuck, Veronica.”

It was a groan and a curse and possibly slightly worshipful, the only compliment he was prone to give.

He saw the spark that lit in her eye just before he leaned forward, that ever present knowledge, a hint that she knew something he didn’t, something about him. Any other time and he could brush it off; pretend he didn’t care. But not now.

Now all he wanted was to hear her whimper, to hear her begging for him.

His hands landed on the sides of her ribs, fingers spreading over the grooves of the tight, plastic material of her bodice, and his knee pushed between hers, causing her to give a little gasp through her lips just before he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft and easy and gentle, it was him demanding entrance, giving her nothing back in return as he tasted something sticky sweet like plum pudding in the corners of her mouth. The very thought that she could have been sharing Christmas dinner with someone – with _someone_ , like his brain didn’t know- mere hours before spurred him on.

It was hard and hungry and he ran his thumbs over the edges of the bustier, teasing the difference between pleather and skin as his tongue probed deeper and deeper.

He wanted her breathless.

“Why?” He murmured it around her tongue. “What happened this time?”

Even as he flicked the edges of faux fur trimming, pushing the sides of her ribs in tight, he ground his hips into hers, punishing and relentless and sudden.

“Everything.” And he could hear the gasp in her voice even as she tried to hide it, tried to rein it in, and that just wouldn’t do. “Nothing.”

He tried hard, but he couldn’t keep the smirk out of his voice and he knew that was a weakness he’d have to work on.

“That’s right, isn’t it?” He nuzzled her face to the side, exposing the long line of her neck. “Nothing. And you just can’t take that, can you?”

Her breath caught in her lungs as he sucked hard, just hard enough to feel, but not leave a mark, not on her neck, not where it would be seen, he felt it in the shifting of her torso against his. Her stomach fluttering against the press of his underbelly made him grin.

It made him suck a line down and then up the stretched tendon in her throat, pulling with all he was worth until she groaned out loud.

She was so responsive it made him harder than he ever remembered being.

“Not Veronica Mars. No, not you. Can’t ever have peaceful.” His right hand came to the front of her chest and his forefinger toyed with the leather straps, tugging on them, as his mouth came right up to her ear. He could see the light feathery down hairs that dotted the inner whorls of her lobe, could see them sway in his breath. “That would be too fucking pedestrian, wouldn’t it? You say you want normal, but normal doesn’t do this, does it?”

The leather pulled free and he felt the tight fit of her bodice give way, loosening against her heavy breathing, the rise and fall of her chest. He couldn’t help himself, unwrapping her like a present left under his tree.

“It doesn’t get you off, does it?”

He spread the sides of her top, watching the material fall away, and his eyes fell to the line of seaming left on her skin. Miniscule little indents in line, pink marks on the tender flesh that mirrored a trail of tiny little feet.

She shivered when he traced the dents with the edge of his fingernail and her nipples puckered.

“And you can smile all you like, Veronica, you can try and fool every single person around you, but you don’t fool me.” Air hissed in through her teeth when he tugged on a nipple, scratching it with his fingernails. “You’re so fucking bored with the public arena, with being this squeaky clean, bright as a fucking rainbow and just as annoying goody two shoes. You like it down here.”

It wasn’t a conscious decision, but he found himself dipping at the knees, hooking his hips between her thighs and pushing her up, guiding her legs around his waist as he brought his mouth down to pull the flesh of her left breast into his mouth.

“You like it seedy and rough and just a little bit dangerous. Don’t you?”

She moaned above him and he ground himself further into her.

He could feel her desire, hot and wet and ready, flush against his cock, could feel her shift against him, feel her try not to give into the impulse and fail as her hips began to move.

“And all your pretty rich boys, oh they love you, don’t they Veronica? They treat you like such a fucking queen, I bet none of them would ever grab your hair and pull it so hard you saw stars as you came, would they?”

“Don’t…” She gritted out. “Don’t… you… bring… them…”

He brought his left hand down to her right hip, pressing his forearm diagonally across the taut bare flesh of her belly, anchoring her to the wall, making it impossible for her to gain the added friction she was trying for.

“You couldn’t pay them to hurt you.” He grinned around her nipple as he bit down sharply and she made a strangled sound in the back of her throat. “But the truth is, you want it. It’s why you’re here.”

“Fuck you.”

He straightened his back, bringing his face up to meet hers again, and had to pause to take in her red flushed cheeks and wild, glassy eyes before he stroked his right hand down in a soft caress of her cheek. She twisted her face away and his forefinger curled after it.

“No, Veronica, fuck you.”

Donald Lamb was the Sheriff of Balboa County, he had pulled the position not once, but twice from a more than worthy adversary, he had power and position and support he could only have dreamt about once upon a time. People looked _up_ to him, goddamnit.

There he was, dry humping someone he could only describe as the fucking thorn in his fucking side against the wall on Christmas Eve like some horny teenager who’d never passed second base in his life.

And he couldn’t imagine one single thing he wanted more.

“So you tell me.” It was a challenge as he let his hand drop to her thigh, the pads of his fingers sliding over the criss-crossed red fishnets that snaked over her like a second skin, his fist wrapping around the inside of her knee. “Tell me what you want.”

He felt it in the twitch of her quad under his palm, the jerk of her knee, the shifting of her posture in her limited position. His lips curled up and he leaned forward, blowing air into her ear.

“Say it out loud.”

Her eyes flashed anger, her face spinning to meet his, and her teeth were tightly packed together as she met his gaze. The challenge rose in him like a sneer, like smug laughter as she struggled against his hold on her, fought to get more.

He rolled his hips, grinding hard into her, and her mouth fell open, breath falling from her mouth.

“Like that?” His head dropped again, mouth open and wet to suckle along her neck, the lines of her throat that bobbed under him. “Huh?”

“Ye…”

It cracked out of her lips, broken and bitten back.

She groaned deep in her throat when he let his hand rise higher, squeezing it between their bodies, pushing aside the faux fur trimming of the skirt, and laying his palm flat against the mound of her pubis. His hand stilled, but his body pushed them both back and forth, creating a rhythm that did nothing but tighten the lines of her body.

“This?” A quick twitch of his fingers, a slight pressure into the growing heat and slick moisture that was teasing him almost as much as he was her. “You want this?”

God, she was wet and hot and practically purring.

“Oh...” She gasped it with every push forward, every time he rocked hard against her. “Oh… Ohp...”

The words sounded drawn out and cut off, precursors to longer sentences that wouldn’t and couldn’t make their way out of her mouth.

“Veronica?”

He teased her name down the midline of her chest, lightly dragging his teeth over the ridges of her sternum and then licking a wet trail back up to soothe it. His shoulders were so tight from holding back he felt like they would pop, muscles flaying right off the bone, if he waited much longer.

“I need to hear you say it.”

Patience was wearing thin on both sides and his fingers clawed frantically between her legs, finding holes in the fishnets and slipping past the sides of soft, silk panties to feel hot, searing flesh. A soft, thick sound above him made raise his eyes in time to see her throwing her head back, skull echoing off the wall.

Her teeth clamped down hard on her bottom lip as he pushed in, finding spaces between the warm folds of flesh, heated skin and slick need. He could feel her inner muscles grabbing at the tips of his fingers, demanding more as he passed right on by, stopping when he moved up to her clit.

“Ohhp…” It was a half strangled cry, air gusted out and sucked back in. “Ohhpuh…”

He rose up to meet her face to face again, saw the frantic sweep of her eyes across him, the color and heat infused on her face, the desperate way she sucked air through her dry lips. He narrowed in on her lips, that mouth, watched intensely as his thumb flicked back and forth.

“What was that?” A cocky head tilt to the left, aiming his ear closer. “Sorry? Didn’t hear you.”

If looks could kill… well, if they could he’d be long gone, but the hatred soaked in lust and need seething from her eyes shot right through him.

He bit his own lip as he watched the shape of her mouth, the opening as she gasped in, the rounding of the ‘oh’ and then the sharpening of her bottom lip meeting the top, the crisp slide from ‘p’ to ‘l’.

Just before the word ‘please’ slipped out of her mouth, he slammed two fingers hard and deep inside her.

They both groaned out loud.

It was like a switch had been flipped, the change from calculated to desperate, the way he lifted his left hand from holding her down to slapping it against the wall by her face, leveraging himself so that he could move.

And all of him moved, hips and knees and shoulders, teeth grinding in his jaw as he pumped his fingers in and out, twisting the fabric of her panties and stockings. His whole body slammed her against the wall again and again and each impact drew gasps from them both.

Freedom gave her movement and she pistoned her hips, smashing them forward and down onto his hand, practically growling at him. The sound rumbled through the skin of her throat and echoed into his forehead as he leaned in, pressing his head into the crook of her neck.

Her ‘p’s turned to frantic, breathy ‘f’s and each down stroke caused a hissed half exclamation.

“Ohfu… ohfu…” It was gritted out above his ears and he nipped at her neck, making each thrust harder and faster and wanting to push her over the last little edge. “Ohfuu-huuh-ucckkk!”

He felt her contempt dripping thick and pearly down his fingers, slipping over the webbing between them, making his little finger sticky as it sat at an awkward angle and pooling in the small divots and cracks of his life, heart and love lines.

“C’mon.” It was an order as he thrust at her. “C’mon.”

Her shoulders shifted and he wasn’t too surprised to suddenly feel hands at his arms, a long, low moan breaking from her throat as she clawed frantically at the t-shirt he’d been lounging in. He lifted his head to meet her eyes and she was too far gone to turn away again, to hide the hunger in them.

He let her drag the shirt off, twisting as the cloth skimmed static electricity over his skin, and he watched the play of her eyes over his chest and arms. Skin puckered tightly around his nipples just from her watching. The fingers of his left hand, returning flat against the wall, curved into tight angles, his knuckles turning white as he counted to five.

“Did I say you could do that?”

Air hissed sharply between her teeth and her eyes locked with his, the faintest gleam behind them as she slowly lifted her hands back above her head, her fingers curling and uncurling, undulating like a challenge in hypnotic rhythms.

He grabbed her wrists roughly, pinning them above her, framing her face with her elbows. His left hand circled both the tiny, bird bone wrists, closing his fingers in tight enough to feel the creak and shift of cartilage underneath, the thready beat of her pulse.

“You always have to push the fucking rules, don’t you?” She was stretched taut, her back arched, chest heaving as she pushed her hips forward again, her legs clamped around his waist. He leaned his forehead on their clenched hands, clamping his eyes shut as he thrust his fingers back in. “Even when you make them.”

Everything about her was soft.

The puffs of expelled air landing on his neck, warm and moist, the tips of her fingers curling around his, her breasts sliding slick against his naked chest, the vulnerable inner skin of her thighs, all the way down to the hot curtain of flesh he felt grasping at him, pulsing at his fingers.

Everything about her was soft and brittle.

He felt her suck in a lungful of air, a suddenly deep gasp of breath and felt her mouth close down over his collar bone, teeth sinking into skin as she muffled the cry, coming hard against him. His hips pinned her up as she trembled and he gritted his teeth, waiting her out.

His forehead pressed into his hand holding both of hers and lips rested just above her hairline. He could feel small tendrils of hair shifting in the wake of his breath, little blonde wisps of nothing tickling at the soft skin under his nose.

Her hair smelled like shampoo too expensive for a college girl.

“Ummpphhhh.” She blinked, dazed and limp and boneless as he let go of her wrists and they slithered down the wall, her shoulders slumping and her legs siding down to the floor. “Just… uhhhh.”

He kept leaning against the wall, let it hold up his weight as he watched her, his shoulder coming to land heavy underneath his head and his whole body rolled with it, so that he leaned sideways looking down at her.

Veronica, for her part, looked stunned and satiated and debauched.

Sweat dried sticky down the middle of his chest and down the sides of his ribs and he reached out, drawing a finger down the side of her neck, pushing several strands of slick hair behind her ear. She was too blissed out to turn away and he lingered as long as he could. When she blinked, a quick twitch of her features, he let his hand drop to her shoulder and began to push the remains of her top off and away to fall to the floor.

“Well.” She schooled her features into blank professionalism and gave a false smile. “That was…”

“Not over.” His heart raced, even as he smoothed his face out and pretended nonchalance. “Thought you’d know by now, Veronica, you want something good, you gotta give it good.”

Then he grinned, full-blown with half hooded eyes as he rolled his shoulders and hips so that his back was flush against the wall.

“On your knees.”

Her eyes widened slightly and he could see the calculations behind them, the micro second decisions that flickered over her face. He had to bite his bottom lip to stop from groaning out loud when she laid a hand flat over his abdomen, fingertips digging slightly into his skin and thumb nail pressing into his belly button, and slowly leaned forward.

One knee crooked itself as her mouth came into contact with the edges of his chest, scratched raw and sensitive from the fur and leather straps of her bodice, he could feel the weight of her shift as she leaned more fully into him and her other knee bent.

Then she was mouthing her way down his belly and he had to bite harder.

“Fuck.” He couldn’t stop himself as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his tracksuit pants and tugged them down. “Oh, Jesus Christ.”

It was all in her eyes, the way they gleamed inside her skull, the way they hinted at being just the tip of a very big iceberg of secrets she knew. She carried superiority and surety and authority with ease, everything he had to struggle for.

It would have been easier to control, easier to hold it back, to hide the way his hands clenched uselessly at the wall beside him, if he could just look away. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t turn away from her, all knowing eyes and smooth skin and sex flushed cheeks.

He could see the shapes of her change. When she was standing up, when he had her pinned, she was stretched and tall and taut, she was made of lines to run eyes and fingers and tongues over. Looking down at her, she was compact, the mid line of her body crowned by a blonde circle, her limbs like little round appendages off to the side, her feet sticking out on the floor behind her, and her breasts just sitting in front of her, bouncing slightly under the line of her face. She was made of circles, soft and cuppable.

She had to know what she did to him; she had to.

Her hands were warm, splayed out in the corners of his hips, the juncture of his thighs, framing his dick, readying it for her mouth. And, oh god, her mouth. Lush little lips and saucy grin, her mouth was hot as she surrounded him with it. The scrape of smooth teeth edges that teased and challenged and threatened all at once.

Slowly at first, torturous inch by torturous inch until all his brain could think were words like moist and warm and hot and wet and fuck yes, fucking hell yes.

All his internal organs felt as if they’d turned inside out, rushing out through his groin. He had to grit back a long, low throaty moan, had to stop himself grabbing the back of her skull and mindlessly thrusting at her like a schoolboy.

He cupped the side of her face in his right hand, feeling the slide of her jaw working, and he wanted to do so many things. Her fingers twitched against the sides of his groin as he slipped his hand into her hair and he was almost past caring if he was being too gentle.

Not that he would ever admit to it, but a great deal of his fantasies had included her. Veronica Mars. In any and all combinations. Several of which had her with short, cropped locks and angry, flashing eyes, but lately he had to admit that the longer hair, the curls and tresses and golden honey highlights were winning him over.

\-- _Someone’s been sleeping in my bed_ \--

Hot air streamed out of her nostrils onto the sensitive flesh of his underbelly and it felt like it was leaving track marks of scalding steam. His fingers twined themselves further in her hair, digging into it, cupping the back of her skull.

And that’s when he felt it.

“Jesus fuck, Veronica!” Both of his hands landed on the sides of her neck, lightly gripping her and pushing her back, sliding her mouth from his cock and then pulling her up. “What the fuck?”

He could tell by the guilty shift of her eyes and the tell tale twitch of her mouth that she was trying to find a way out of it.

“You never said.” He shook her shoulders, gently, barely, but enough to make his point. “You sat in that room giving your statement and you never fucking said.”

“It wasn’t…”

But he wasn’t listening anymore, spinning her around to face the wall and pushing handfuls of her hair up until he could see it, until he could get a better look. A patch of dull, fuzzy re-growth sat hiding a discolored patch of crunchy scab.

“You gave evidence.” He hissed it to the back of her head. “And I don’t remember this. What else were you hiding from that night? Do you realize if they go free…?”

Images flashed behind his eyes and he tried to shut them out.

“It wasn’t then.” She squeezed the words out against the wall and he felt himself step back. “It didn’t happen that night.”

She was shaking.

Or he was, he wasn’t sure which.

“What do you mean…?” Then it dawned. “They got to you before? They got to you and you didn’t… You still fucking went after them? Are you completely fucking brain dead?”

Her eyes, downcast and hidden, suddenly flashed and she hissed as she turned to face him, bringing up her arm to push him away.

“Somebody had to!” She bent down to pick up her top, red faced and angry and lashing out. “Nobody else was…”

He closed his fingers over hers, stopping her from finding enough purchase on the material to slip it over her arms.

“If I remember correctly, I had the guy in jail before and somebody… wait, let me think, who was it again? Oh, that’s right, you I believe, you brought in evidence enough to clear the guy.”

Her nostrils flared.

“I just said check the radio logs.” That ever-present fucking sneer was back. “I never said anything about ignoring the fact they were falsified. That’s all on you, Deputy.”

He had never wanted her more.

There was something particularly wrong about the fact that he found her vitriol more of a turn on than her sex kitten act.

“I’m the fucking _Sheriff_ , Veronica.” He spun her to face the wall again, bringing his mouth right back to her ear. “And you will stay here until I get back.”

He crossed the floor in giant, ludicrously angry steps, his dick flapping jauntily in front of him as he made his way into his bedroom and practically slammed the door behind him, leaving her there. Leaving her standing with her face pressed to his wall, panting with anger and lust and need and confusion in nothing but a short red skirt and little heels.

Fuck.

His hand was trembling as he rifled through his bedside drawer, grabbing a condom and slipping the foil packet between the nails of his middle and forefinger, scissoring it. He stopped to look down at the bed, king size mattress, thick quilt, fluffy pillows, hospital tight corners and coverlet pulled tight enough to bounce quarters off. It was too big for one, but he’d never minded opulence before.

He imagined going to sleep in sheets that smelled like her, like both of them, drenched in copper sweet salty sex. Never in a million years would he ever voice it, but those thoughts always led to ones about falling asleep _with_ her, bodies warm and slick and sated.

Those images, vague and shimmer thin, a tease of his imagination, were suddenly shattered by memories and truths. The knowledge of bruises and gashes and ugly red blood, a shaking voice giving statement after statement, year after year.

It ended all flights of fancy and tossed him, bitter and scalded, back into reality, took him from fluffy quilts to impersonal doorways, from endearments to barely contained vehemence.

She shuddered at the sound of his door opening again; he saw it, a small movement of compliance that he’d likely never see from her again. It looked as if she hadn’t moved at all. But Veronica Mars was a smart girl, more prepared than any goddamned scout troupe, and even though her face was pressed against the wall, he could see the crumpled, forgotten snakeskin of her stockings lying on the floor with her abandoned bodice as he rolled the condom on.

Saliva flooded his mouth.

Her spine was rigid as he strode back to her, alert, a straight arrow holding her down as her shoulders and ribs heaved under breathing too harsh and labored to be faked.

He wondered if anything else about her was real.

“You’re good.” His voice was surprisingly calm, given the way his blood was pumping through his veins, red hot and bitter. “But you know that, nobody needs to tell you. You’re Veronica Mars. You know everything.”

Her skin seemed to shrink under his touch as he laid his palm flat on her shoulder blade.

“You have a gut instinct most cops would kill for, you can draw confessions out of anyone and make them think you’re doing them a favor, you’ve got a head for the game I haven’t seen in anyone…” And he made his meaning clear as he stroked patterns onto her back. “… _anyone_ , in my time at the station. You could own the world; do you know it?”

The only other sound was the rasp of her breath as he leaned down to her level.

“But you never fucking will.”

His hand slipped around her waist, laying itself flat on her belly before pulling her that last inch back into him.

“No law enforcement agency in this country or any other will ever hire you the way you are. I’ll be President and Sacks will run the FBI before you ever get a badge, and do you know why?”

She shook her head and he pushed himself flush against her, cupping her whole body with his, curving himself around her. His hips cradled her ass and his chest dwarfed her back, his knees pushed into the divots at the back of hers and his face pressed into the back of her neck.

He grabbed her hands and held them up next to her face, mingling their fingers together and holding her still.

“You’re too much of a liability, Veronica. You take too many risks with yourself and with everyone around you. You’re going to get someone killed one of these days.” His knee pushed between hers. “And it’s probably going to be you.”

He rested the side of his face along hers, temple to temple, the bones of his cheek grating against hers, his breath ghosting along her jaw line. He could feel every breath she took, every insignificant movement and shift.

“Even your own father, the much beloved Keith Mars.” She stiffed against him, but he didn’t let go and didn’t stop. “He wouldn’t think twice about throwing you off the force if you’d been on his team and you know it. You are nobody’s golden child, not really, do you get it?”

He left her right hand on the wall, knowing she’d keep it there, and raked his fingers through her hair, sweeping it to the side and off her face.

“I bet he doesn’t even know, does he?” He clenched his fingers in a fistful of curls and gently dragged them down, pulling her head back and stretching her throat until she gasped. “Judging from the lack of bullet holes in both assailants when he brought them in. He was angry enough then, imagine what he’d do if someone told him?”

His fingers spread out over the bowl of her skull, pressing hard into the divots and grooves, and dragging down past her hair, to the curves of her jaw meeting her neck. He could feel the joint tight and open as the pads of his fingers curved underneath, felt the throbbing vein in her neck, and he pulled it back further until she was arched, her head on his shoulder.

“Noooo…”

A small, soft moan.

“Oh, don’t worry.” He mouthed it along the side of her jaw. “I’m not going to spill all your dirty secrets, Veronica. I just don’t have the time.”

God, he was aching with it, hard in the juncture where the tops of her thighs met her ass, his hips grinding without his consent, his cock pulsing forward, searching. He let his hand wander down the front of her throat, following the lines of it to the curve of her shoulder and around to the soft, indented flesh of the sides of her ribs.

“The real question is how much does Echolls know?”

He slid his hand around to her front, fingers scissoring wide and capturing the flesh of her breast between them, gripping it, kneading it, stretching it out until there was nothing but hard, taut nipple sliding between his fingertips.

She bit out a groan and shuddered under him.

“He knows.” He grinned as the information clicked and he knew he was right. “I bet that’s why he left, isn’t it? I bet he pleaded with you to stop. I bet he asked you to put yourself, maybe even him, in front of solving the case and you just couldn’t do it. Did he beg, Veronica?”

Her fingers twitched under his on the wall.

“Go… to…” Low down, it rumbled against his lips on her neck. “Hell.”

“Save me a seat?” The knee between hers rose, shifting higher, moving her legs further apart. “You should have seen those boys after Echolls got out of lockup, I was sure I was going to have to call some kind of medical expert. He sure likes to get bloody, doesn’t he?”

There was a -- _Like Father, Like Son_ \-- comment begging the tip of his tongue, but he bit on it as his hand pushed down the front of her torso, feeling the interplay of her abdominal muscles contracting and releasing under his touch. There was only so much she would take; he knew it.

“Gee, Veronica, can you imagine what he’d have done if you’d told him about the Stix?”

“Wha…?”

He used her surprise to slip his fingers down between her legs, gripping her from the front and angling her hips backwards. Her question was drowned out in a deep, throaty sound as his cock slid right home, finding her still wet and ready.

“You don’t think I have surveillance?” It was a harsh whisper through gritted teeth as he stilled inside of her. “You don’t think I keep an eye on the Fitzpatricks? Fuck, I know you think I’m incompetent, but give me some credit.”

He brought his hand back up to meet hers, bringing all four of their hands in closer to her face.

“What the hell is it? Do you just not care, is that it?”

She couldn’t move, even if she wanted to. He was all around her, pinning her, his face sliding next to hers, cheek to cheek.

“You know who they are. They’re not pretty people.” He rocked against her in small rolling movements, teasing and gentle and slow. “Mess with them and it’s not going to be as simple as being locked in a fridge and set on fire. They will mess you up, they will fuck with you until you are so broken you wish you were dead, and then they’ll leave you alive just for fun, do you get that?”

It was a low whine in the back of her throat.

“But, no, you don’t care. The benefits far outweigh the risks, don’t they?” One quick thrust, hard and punishing, and they both bit back moans. “Forget justice and nobility, you just get off on it, don’t you? You pretend to be this big crusader, but really, you’re just getting your rocks off with the worst kink there is.”

He began to move in earnest, thrusting his hips back and forth, pushing in and out and in again, feeling the slick wet slide of her inner walls grabbing at him, feeling the tension coil in the small of his back.

“Guns and fire and date rape drugs, oh my, Veronica.” They panted in tandem. “But one of these days you’re going to learn the hard way, you start fucking with death and sooner or later, it begins to fuck back.”

He had to breathe in spurts, in tandem with the jerks of his body.

“And I bet all the bruises and the blood and the nightmares, I bet they’re just fuel to the fire, aren’t they? They just make it that much better; the more the merrier, right? The more visible the scars, the better the pay off, huh?”

Her fingers tightened, squeezed around his, pleading for something, but he was beyond listening.

“How does it start? A little flutter in the belly when you hear about a crime? Huh? How long does it take to build? How long until the adrenalin starts pumping through your veins and you start pushing, start dangling yourself out there like a piece of meat? Months? Weeks? God, soon it’ll be days, you’ll be out of control.”

Thrust. Breathe. Pull out. Thrust. Breathe. Pull out. Repeat.

“What’ll you do, then? When you can’t wait for the clues to come in? Where will you find your fix? Chasing down Irish mobsters in bars? Tying yourself to the train tracks?”

They groaned in synch with each slam against the wall. It started low in his belly, ripping up his gullet and exploding half formed in his throat, transferring to her and tearing out of her mouth. A few degrees higher and she might sound like she was in pain, but her voice was so scratched out in lust that there was no mistaking it.

“You want someone to hurt you, Veronica? Just so you can break out of the monotony of the perfect, pretend bubble you live?” Their foreheads slid against each other, slick with sweat. “Then you come here. I’ll do whatever the fuck you want. But the difference is, you’ll walk out of here alive.”

She was shaking and he could feel her struggling to move, trying to push back on him, reaching.

“No.” Short and sharp, he said it loudly and clearly. “No. Don’t you dare come, Veronica. Don’t you fucking dare. You will stand there and take it and you’ll fucking learn what it is to be denied, do you hear me?”

The desperate moan that escaped her lips was almost answer enough.

Almost.

“Do you?” Slam. “Veronica?” Slam. “Fucking.” Slam. “Hear me?”

“Ye…” Before she could get the word out, he rocketed into her again, bounced her body against the wall so hard she couldn’t finish. “Ye…”

He couldn’t let her finish. There was something inside him that sparked at every broken word, each failed attempt, something so viciously gleeful that he didn’t want to explore it, didn’t want to know where it came from and why.

It roared up inside his blood, victorious and slightly nauseating.

“I asked.” The corners of his lips caught on hers and he could feel her trembling. “You. A question.”

“Yes!” It broke out of her with a sob, explosive and clawing. “Yes! Oh, god, please. Yes!”

The sound that came out of him wasn’t coherent, it was a roar, deep and guttural as he convulsed around and inside her, coming so hard it felt like he was blacking out.

When his brain cleared, he became aware of two things, the first being that he’d dragged her hands in under her chin and close to her chest, clutching her so hard to him that he could feel bones twist inside her wrists, secondly that she was having trouble breathing, gasping so deeply and loudly that it scared him.

Her legs were buckling and he gave into the momentum, sliding them both down to the floor.

“Oh, fuck.” He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, with one arm still held underneath her body. “Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker, Veronica.”

Her only response was a broken gasping that sounded too close to tears for his comfort as she tried to roll away, her whole body twisting as her hands scrambled out into the distance, reaching for a hold, for something to grab onto.

“Hey.” His fingers were slippery on her hips and she twisted out of them, pulling herself further away on her elbows. “Hey, wait a sec…”

She stopped moving a foot away from him. It wasn’t a move of giving in; he knew that, didn’t bother mistaking it for anything close to acquiescence. It was exhaustion and her body failing her as she lay on her belly, gasping into the wooden floorboards.

“Wait.” But his voice lacked any of the harsh coldness he’d used before. “Can you just wait a second?”

There was something eerily familiar about seeing her lying there, something that took him back weeks, back to sitting in the interrogation room and questioning her as she sat with dead eyes and a calm face, speaking with an emotionless voice about being drugged and manhandled and threatened.

Again.

His fingers approached her ankle slowly, wrapping around it and turning, pulling her legs around and rolling her over onto her back.

“Noooooo.” She moaned it softly in the back of her throat, not moving, only allowing herself to be pulled and positioned at his will. “I can’t. No more.”

It sounded as if she truly didn’t believe her statement would make any difference, as if it were just reflex.

“Shh.” His voice was a low whisper as he knelt up and laid a hand on each of her legs, slowly and gently tracing them up from her ankles to her shins and back down again. “It’s okay.”

She bit back her sobs as he pulled her knees apart.

If he hadn’t just blown his entire brain and possibly half a lung out of his dick five seconds before, he’d have been hard again. As it was, his mouth was sandpaper dry just looking at her pussy, warm and wet, swollen and angry and red.

And sore.

Her knees fell to the side when he let her legs go, running his hands over the soft, sensitive flesh inside her thighs.

“C’mon.” He urged her softly, leaning forward to blow a cool stream of air directly into her core. “Just let go.”

She jerked her hips up, her face a mixture of surprise and agony, and a half garbled sound came out of her throat.

He kept everything slow and soft and barely there, from the tips of his fingers spidering up and down her inner thighs and reaching out to pull the folds of her flesh aside, to his tongue, peeking out between his lips to lap at the heated tissue.

“Ohhhhhh.” She was beyond words. “Ohhhhh.”

“You can come now.” He whispered it like a secret into her clit, using the very tips of his fingers to calm her down. “I want you to.”

When he thought she was ready, when he thought she could take it, he drew his tongue flat against her clit and rolled it. The undulation of her hips against him was hypnotic. He could feel himself, still limp and soggy inside the used condom sagging between his thighs, but he didn’t care.

He needed to do this.

And she needed to let him.

“Oh, god.” She whimpered. “I can’t… I…”

It didn’t take long, her fingers coming to comb through his hair, cupping the top of his skull, pressing him closer. He kept his neck stiff, resisting the pressure, kept the bulk of himself off her over stimulated, over sensitive flesh as he gave her the merest laps and suckles and kisses.

She began to shudder, her thighs clamping hard around his ears, and then she flooded his tongue.

It was too much, all at once, flooding his mouth and spilling over his chin, slipping down into the cracks of her thighs and ass. He held her legs still and blew patterns over her, gentled her down from the orgasm and waited until her breathing returned to something a little closer to normal.

There was very little left to say as he knelt up again, stretching a creak out of his spine and cupping her knees, drawing them back up together as she lay breathing deeply, staring up at him with glassy eyes.

So he said the only thing he could think of.

“You want a beer?”

Pushing herself up onto her elbows, Veronica gave him a look that suggested he had just offered her fresh jellied fetus on a bed of snake testicles.

“Uh, water?”

Her throat was still dry and cracked out and as he stood up, wobbling slightly on shaky knees, carelessly sliding the condom off and walking down the hall towards the bathroom, he thought about telling her of the cans of sickly, sugar sweet, fruit flavored sodas he’d put in his fridge after the last few times.

He didn’t.

By the time he’d disposed of the condom, found a clean pair of boxers, and made his way to the kitchen to fill a glass each with water and beer, he could tell the shift in the room.

Veronica Mars was back in action, carefully and precisely lacing the leather straps back into her costume, casually and without thought adjusting her breasts to fit snugly where they should.

“Here.” He offered, seeking out the snap he would see in her eyes, the final click back to reality. “Your water.”

And there it was, the distance, the coolly professional _tolerance_ as she took the glass warily, never breaking eye contact as she brought it to her lips and swallowed. She downed half the glass in one go.

“Thanks.”

He leaned his back against the wall and slid down it, careful not to spill a drop of his frosty, well earned, and always trustworthy beer, bringing his knees up and resting his outstretches wrists on them.

“Yeah, well, Merry fucking Christmas, Veronica.”

Maybe he sounded bitterer than strictly necessary, because her eyes seemed to widen before she covered.

“Uh, you too, I guess.”

He lifted his glass in a toast and let the amber liquid wash over his pallet, let it swish and eddy inside his mouth and down his throat, erasing the last taste of her. He watched as she frowned down at her stockings, before sighing, finally bundling them up and shoving them in her bag.

She carefully put her half full glass on a small table by the door that held his mail, some loose change and a variety of loose odds and ends from his pockets.

He made a mental note to change the destination of his keys.

When she reached for the door, turning the knob and cracking it open, when she had her back to him, he couldn’t stop himself, as much as he wanted to.

“Why, Veronica?” He watched the way her spine straightened to a painful degree, the way she stopped perfectly still. “Why do you keep coming back? Why come at all?”

There must have been something particularly desperate about the way he asked, because she sighed, shoulders heaving before she turned. The look in her eye wasn’t mean, it was pained and hurt and weary.

“Because I’m tired.” He wondered if the answer was for her or for him. “Because I’m sick of nice guys who only end up hurting me in the end, I’m sick of being surprised by the knife in my back that I should have seen coming.”

“Are you…?” His fingers curled tightly around the glass as he looked up at her. “Are you calling me a nice guy?”

The door creaked open silently behind her, framing her in the darkness as she looked down at him. And he was suddenly aware of the steely pity in her eyes, the undeniable proof how of pathetic he really was.

The masochist says ‘beat me’; the sadist says ‘no’.

“I’m saying that at least I’m never surprised when you hurt me.”

Then she walked away, leaving him alone, sitting on the cold floor of his empty house.

She made the rules and then blamed him for following them.

Typical.

***  



End file.
